


the earth can shake

by akelios



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: FaceFucking, Gunplay, Kinkmeme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akelios/pseuds/akelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was his favorite gun, the Colt 1911. It was beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the earth can shake

It's beautiful in his hands. The metal barrel shines in the firelight, silver painted red and gold in wavering lines as he grips the ivory handle and pops the magazine out, checking it with an almost negligent air before sliding it home again.

I fight to control the anticipation, but it's a losing battle. My heart speeds up eagerly, my breathing rising to meet it. He doesn't even look at me as he crosses the room, not until he is standing beside the bed, my own gun in his hand the flesh-warm metal of the barrel pressed to my temple. I freeze, years of experience warring with the simple, pure thrust of lust that rises within me. I want it, and I fear it. And the fear only makes it better, sharper.

He smiles down at me, eyes shadowed and presses harder with the gun. I imagine it burning into my skin, tattooing me where everyone can see the mark. I close my eyes and let that fresh wave rock through me.

The bed dips as he climbs onto it, his legs bracketing my chest, pinning my arms to my sides. He slides the mouth of the gun over the ridge of my eye, a light scrape down the length of my nose before he presses the side of the barrel against my lips. I force myself to meet his eyes as he pulls the gun back a fraction of an inch. He stares down at me, waiting.

I place a careful, sucking kiss against the metal before me, making certain that he can hear it. He seems unmoved as I wrap my tongue around it, licking and tracing the join of the slide, following it down the length of the barrel. I turn my head only when I absolutely must to reach the entire length, mouthing the end of the gun, sliding the very tip of my tongue into the waiting mouth of it. The taste of oil and metal fills me with stinging, sour wonder.

He shifts the gun so that it is aimed at me and I follow, finally able to wrap my lips around it properly. I keep my eyes on him, on the man who holds my life in the balance as I work my way down the familiar length. So hard, perfect and unyielding. I want to moan, to clamp my jaws tight around it and suck. That would end us too soon.

I take my time, laving the barrel with my tongue as though it were his erection in my mouth. He grows bored with that, or perhaps I have managed to reach him through that impenetrable wall he holds between us and he leans over me, his free hand knotting in my hair and yanking. The sharp sparks of pain travel down my body, my nipples going taut, my already painful erection leaking badly enough that I can feel the pre-come begin to trickle down my length, a tickling tease of sensation.

He holds my head steady with that deliciously painful grip on my hair and draws the gun carefully from my mouth. I follow it, trying to keep it within me, wrapping my lips around empty air as it leaves me and chasing it with my tongue, managing one last tiny lick against the underside of the barrel before it is gone.

The hot slickness of the metal is pressed beneath my chin, driving my mouth shut. He holds it there, long and hard enough to leave a bruise. The gun travels down the length of my body, a terrifying scratching over the bowed out lines of my throat, just enough pressure to make me swallow against it. Down across my shoulders, my clavicle. He follows my ribcage until he reaches the end of it. Then the gun is being pressed up into my sternum. I want to cry out, to beg him to do it already, to finish this. I don't. I bit my tongue bloody, but I keep it in.

He removes the gun from my flesh and I struggle against him as I haven't at any other stage. I know what he's going to do. I don't even have to see the tube of slick he dangles in front of my eyes, or hear the click of the cap and the thick slurp as he squirts it out over the top of the gun barrel.

He holds the gleaming gun in front of my eyes as he wraps his fingers around the metal and spreads the coating, jerking it off as he won't do me. I hate and love him in almost equal measure.

Without ever looking away he shifts and slides down my body, moving us awkwardly until my legs are spread around his kneeling form. I stretch my arms up and back, grabbing at the wooden slats of the headboard even as I bring my knees up higher, spreading my body wider for him. He can see now that I prepared myself earlier, when I was waiting for him.

My hole is ready, glistening and spread, the plug I'd used smaller than he himself was, but wide enough that it looked nearly obscene, bright red against the pale skin surrounding it. He pulls it out, too fast, and I cry out, my hands locking around the wood, making it creak. I hear the heavy thud of the plug hitting the wood flooring and then the tip of the gun is kissing my twitching hole and I stop breathing.

He takes his time working the gun into me. Teasing me with an inch and then taking it back, leaving me hollow and desperate. It feels like forever until I feel the trigger guard pressing into the skin behind my hole, driving into my balls in a wonderfully painful and bruising push. I try to close my legs against him, to keep the gun inside of me, perfectly, eternally hard, able to fuck me forever.

He slaps his free hand down onto my stomach and the ripple of my muscles clenching makes it almost too much to have the gun within me. I can taste the metal in the back of my throat. The gun fucks me, and I let it, shaking and sweating, my body thrashing in small, jerking movements against the wet sheets of the bed. We serve his pleasure, the gun and I, and his pleasure is slow burning.

Eventually, finally, when I am nearly mindless with my need, his slender fingers find the snap of the leather strap he tied around my cock hours ago and releases it. I almost come then and there, the surge of released pressure more than I can take. But he pinches his fingers around me at the base and holds me off for a few seconds more.

“Look at me.”

I do, our eyes lock together as his fingers dig into my knee. The 'click-click' of the gun being cocked, still buried as deep inside of me as it will go destroys me. I come, a geyser that arcs up out of my body, still clutching at my gun as though it were the only thing holding me to this reality.

He pulls the gun from me with a muffled oath and then he is kneeling over my head, guiding his own desperately hard and aching cock to my lips. I lack the strength to do anything but let my mouth fall open for him. The angle is impossible, but he fucks my mouth as best he can, the headboard rattling and banging into the wall as he rocks and thrusts, trying to drive down into my throat. I take him as best I can, my mouth still tasting gunmetal and death even as I lick against the soft, burning hot underside of his cock.

I bring him off with a carefully timed scrape of my teeth along his length. He comes and the room is filled with a low buzzing sound. The generators kicking in. We've blown out the lights again. There was too much. I swallow what little I can and then turn my head to spit the rest onto the sheets.

He starts to roll off the bed and I catch him with one half-numbed hand.

“Stay.” My voice is raspy, even through the thick coating of semen that still filled it. “Stay with me.”

Harry looks down at my hand, loose on his arm, and then back up to my face.

“I'm not sleeping like this all night and neither are you.” He leans down and kisses me, gentle and passionate all at once. “I've got to get the Colt cleaned up before the lube ruins it, and you won't thank me in the morning for letting the sex stupid portions of your brain take over.”

I want to roll my eyes at him, but that is far too much effort at this point in the evening. He has a point about the gun though. I yawn and let him take care of everything for a little while longer.


End file.
